


Stalking? Why, William Hand Would Never

by vizarding



Series: Gloves and Cigars [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Necrophilia, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vizarding/pseuds/vizarding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How exactly does one approach Death itself? Why does Death not come directly to William himself? Maybe because Death is a workaholic bastard who's getting annoyed with the freak from the morgue staring at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stalking? Why, William Hand Would Never

With the way he surrounded himself with smoke and how he inspired fear in the employees of the DEO, William could almost believe Director Bones was indeed a manifestation of Death still.

The brief moments he left the morgue during the day, he would spy through the windows of the cubicles and around corners and down the long winding hallways— if only to catch a glimpse of the… man. He still hesitated to use the word. He did not know anything about the Director, and he still refused to speak with his awful, awful _coworkers_. It was dreadful how they filled up the basement with their presence and just ruined his day by _existing_. How could they just entertain themselves with the cadavers if they did not care as he did?

It wasn’t _fair_.

And if not them, he still risked running into the other living who worked in the building while trying to find his quarry. It did not matter if they could answer his inquiries. He almost didn’t _want_ an answer. To think this… man, could be alive? No. No, he would not accept that. No, he had to have been delivered from the cold, black hands of Death for a reason. Perhaps ease the horror of living.

Oh, in those moments.

The rare times that they were.

He would spy the dark cloud down the hallway, or through an office window. He clutched his chest, disgusted with the beating that resonated within at the mere glimpse of the bare skull. He was always surrounded by two blonde women, ruining the moment. One seemed like a daft airhead, and the other had such a cold, hard glare, she still frightened him even as he imagined her head cracked open and bleeding over the pavement. Even the beauty of death could not ease her intimidating gaze.

Soon, he had a schedule he could follow.

To follow Bones, that is.

Never… outside of the DEO building! Never. That would be odd! And perhaps a little inappropriate.

Stalking? Why never.

He would not have the word.

No, he was just appreciating the elegance and the breath-taking sight.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Bones left the building to get lunch. Sometimes, the air-headed woman would convince him on Saturdays as well. If William went up to security at 2 p.m. claiming to have lost his keys or his wallet, he could catch his superior re-entering the building and be bathed with cigar smoke. A stench he began to welcome, burning through his dulled sense of smell if only because that meant he was in the presence of Death’s impersonation.

Every Wednesday, Bones had a meeting in the large presentation room. Of what, he was not sure, but he was able to see him enter at 5 p.m. and leave at 8:30 p.m., sometimes varying.

Every Friday he went out for an early dinner with the frightening woman and came back to the office at 7:15 p.m. always on the dot. He was so punctual!  
If William did not see Bones on Monday by 3 p.m. walking through the southwest hall, it would most likely mean Bones had left the DEO for some sort of business at another office, or something of that matter. He would always be gone for and non-descript amount of time. From a week to a month.

One Sunday a month, Bones took a day off.

Sometimes, William would stay later hours in hopes of running into him in the parking lot. He did not mind much; spending more time with his beloveds on the cold metal tables was anything but a chore or inconvenience. And with less people around, it felt so much more intimate. Yes, he enjoyed this change. And all to see the Director possibly walking to his sleek, black car in the parking lot. Which he parked quite far away, in the very last spot of the second row over from the door. How odd, most people would look to park as close as they could, but he always parked in the exact same spot. Shouldn’t he have a saved spot closer to the building? 

In the end it mattered not, they always seemed to meet before leaving the building at the security desk.

Why, one time he bumped shoulders with him. They were. So close. It was all William could do to resist reaching out and caressing that _gorgeous_ cranium.

And then there were the instants when Bones would descend into the morgue to speak about a body. Sometimes! He spoke with William directly. It was hard to pay attention, to be completely honest. The mortician felt guilty, like he was cheating on his work. He’d stoke their cheek once Bones left, just to assure him he loved them still.

William sometimes braved those positively **_wretched_** staff parties for Bones. Just to catch a glimpse of him. He’d tuck himself away in the corner, eyes glued to him from afar. It was unfortunate that Bones never stayed long, but at least he had less of a reason to remain there either. People would attempt to _speak_ to him!! It was positively revolting. It made his stomach turn.

Oh, but then there was those moments when William allowed himself. A quiet release. _Oh,_ how he yearned to spend a romantic night alone with one of his beloved– but then he found himself picturing that blackened skull. Slipping off the glove and taking the bone into his mouth. Fingers tucked in his rib cage. Oh god! Dragging his tongue over his teeth and cheek bones and maybe even poking into his eye sockets. 

W-with his fingers.

Of course.

(Not like he hadn’t thought of something like that before.)

Oh, he was so dirty, and yet he couldn’t stop those fantasies.

And he couldn’t stop following him with his little schedule.

But it wasn’t _stalking_.

Never!

The weeks of watching him filled his fantasies and desires and yet he still wanted more. And he still had no answers as to what Bones was. But… a part of him he really didn’t care. Bones was his mind’s plaything. Bones could be anything he wanted, and perhaps he could stay that way.

He happened to pass one of the larger rooms and spied Bones sitting alone with the two women, discussing something. Just the glimpse at him filled him with joy and– oh no, the frightening one noticed him and was rising from her chair. He quickly scurried away as Chase ripped open the door– which that damned Jonni had left hanging open– and let her glare follow the creepy mortician down the hall.

“Do people still say speak of the devil?” Jonni chuckled, chin resting in her palm. Her fellow agent turned her hawkish eyes upon her, taking place back at the table on the left of Bones.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to beat him?” she ignored the other blonde, turning attention to her boss.

“Why would I give you the pleasure?” the skeleton let loose a trail of smoke, annoyance spiking his voice in a way his features couldn’t properly portray.

“If anyone gives him a beating, I’ll be happy to deliver it. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, agent Chase.”

Another laugh rang through the room thanks to Jonni, “But you can’t beat him. That’s unprofessional as his superior.”

“I can do what I want as his superior.” A pause, inhaling deep, letting smoke burn his lungs before fill the air. “… And I never said I was going to beat him.”

“Of course.”

“Are you going to fire him at least?” Chase was just begging to do _something_ to him. While accompanying Bones as the agent did, she had felt his constant stares as well and she really did not appreciate it. It had actually been a debate between the three who his perverted gaze might had been upon. At least assumed perverted, considering how he hunched, and how he carried himself. Eventually, they’d come to the conclusion that his sights were indeed on Bones.

And it was probably another case of fear or disgust.

You know, the usual.

“You’d think a coroner would at least be desensitized to the sight.”

“Don’t change the subject, Thunder.”

“I’ll talk to him. At next Friday’s party.”

“You’re going!” the more excitable blonde gripped his arm with a smile (earning another glare from Chase, why did she have to touch the boss, why did he _allow_ it.), “That’s wond— wait a minute. That’s… You’re skipping Infinity Night for it, aren’t you.”

Bones didn’t reply, only taking another drag and continuing, “He does good work on metas, so at least transferring him to another branch will keep his skills in our rank.” The skeleton sat back, taking his arm away from Jonni and stretching. “Depending on his answer, _then_ maybe I’ll beat him.”


End file.
